by Laura Burton
I’m envious of these men. I try to imagine what their day-to-day life is like.
After working a normal 9-to-5 job, they go home to a wife, cook food with her, and maybe watch a couple of kids play on a games console. After dinner, they’ll probably play soccer with the kids in the yard or take the dog for a walk. While the wife is putting the kids to bed, they’ll take the garbage out and wash the dishes. Then they’ll snuggle up to the wife in bed at the end of the day, content and happy to do it all again the next day. An endless, blissful, Groundhog Day loop.
My life is so far removed from that scenario; I have no idea how I can get to that situation. I mean, how does a guy like me - a world famous Hollywood actor - find a fun, down to Earth woman who isn’t a groupie or an actress? And how do I take a woman like that out on a date? What would that even look like? My thoughts are interrupted when another car rolls up. A team of women and one man file out of the car. Martin claps his hands when he sees them. “Finally, the stylists are here. We’ll be departing soon. I can’t wait to get this flight over with.” Martin kicks back his drink and slams his head back against his seat. He hates flying.
He’s a good sport for joining me on these press tours, especially as I know he’d much prefer to stay home with his feet planted firmly on solid ground, managing my schedule online.
But he knows I’m hopeless when it comes to keeping schedules. I’m a free spirit who hates to be confined by deadlines and to-do lists. It’s where Martin and I clash, but for the most part, we get on because we recognize that we have different strengths. Besides, I pay Martin to keep me in check. As stifling and boring as it is, it’s a necessary aid to help me do the more tedious parts of my job.
I squint, ignoring Martin’s grumbles, and watch a woman climb out of the car. She pulls a bag behind her like she’s dragging a particularly stubborn Great Dane that does not want to go for a walk.
I grab the arm of my seat with one hand and cover my smirk with the other, my heart hammering in my chest as I watch the woman head for the plane. One of the men appears to offer his help, but the woman shrugs him off and continues to wrestle with the bag unaided.
Even though she’s still several hundred feet away, I know it’s her.
She’s opted for a low key outfit today. She’s wearing jeans and an oversized white T-Shirt tucked in at the waist. A fan of dark hair obscures her face as she stumbles, like a drunken zombie, dragging the massive bag with her.
I’m already highly entertained as I watch Leila try to navigate a path to the plane. She looks up as though she senses she’s being watched, and I swear our eyes meet for the briefest of moments. But that’s impossible, because the windows are tinted. To Leila, I’m just a dark window on a very large plane.
I wonder what’s going on inside of her head. Her mouth drops open and she pauses, apparently forgetting all about the bag she’s been lugging for the past five minutes. Her shoulders relax as she just stares at my window. Is she nervous like Martin? Has she never flown before?
Then she shakes her head and resumes her Herculean task, and the moment is broken.
Leila and the other stylists soon disappear from view as they get closer to the plane and I’m full of jitters. I glance around the cabin at my dull companions. Harper is on her phone, her claw like nails tapping away at the screen at rapid speed. Eddie is popping pills and chugging water like it’s going out of style. He’ll be asleep for the rest of the flight. And then there’s Martin, who keeps his eyes fixed on the window, his deep-set eyes blinking slowly.
It’s going to be a long flight.
A babble of voices rises from the cabin behind, and I listen. The only thing separating us from the team of stylists, assistants, and helpers is a thin blue curtain.
From the sounds of their laughter, they’re having a much better time than anyone in the upper class area.
The plane begins to taxi, then it finally takes off, and I lean closer to the window to watch the world disappear as clouds take over the view.
Martin’s leather boots tap the table leg until I can’t take it anymore.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and stand.
Martin looks up at me. “Where are you going?”
“To have a little fun,” I shoot over my shoulder as I swagger away.
Chapter 7
Leila
Lucy’s voice is stuck in my head. She gave me another list of worries to carry around with me before I left the apartment. Where will you sleep? What if you get a UTI? When will you eat? What if you get food poisoning? What if you have to pee on the plane and the seatbelt sign is on?
But the most important question is the last one she asked me: Why did Blaze Hopkins insist YOU go on the press tour? What is he thinking?
I know Lucy didn’t mean to sound hurtful, but to anyone else, the question might sound harsh. It’s like she thinks there’s no way a man in his right mind would want me to go with him on a press tour.
But honestly, after the fiasco at his apartment, I can’t help but question Blaze’s IQ myself. I made a total fool of myself at his apartment. But according to Josie, he was adamant.
It has to be Leila, he said.
I still can’t believe I let Chessy talk me into this situation. I chew my lip, buckle and unbuckle my seatbelt, and look out of the window at the runway. The cabin is full of animated voices, but no one pays me any mind. I could be invisible for all I know.
I have bigger things on my mind anyway. The stylists are talking about whatever pointless gossip they picked up in a magazine today. I have to work out how to dress Blaze Hopkins for his tour.
I glance briefly at the two women across from me. Their make-up is flawless, and they both have their hair swept up into messy buns. They have that sophisticated-creative look going on; each one is sporting a pair of oversized glasses, skinny jeans, and a fancy blouse.
On second thought, maybe befriending the stylists is the way to get this job done right.
After all, the only reason I finally gave in to Chessy and agreed to go on this trip was the money.
When I finally spoke to her on the phone, a very disgruntled Josie told me Blaze was offering a whopping twenty-five thousand dollars for the trip. With that kind of money, I could start up my own small business.
What kind of business? The Lucy voice in my head asks, and it’s a fair question. The thing is, I have no idea what I’m good at.
Until now, I’ve only collected a list of things I’m not good at.
List of Things I’m Not Good At
Balancing: On a beam, high heels… Sometimes, my own two feet.
Talking on the phone: Confirmed when I ran out of work on my first day working in a complaints department.
Any kind of craft: Card making is off the table.
Consistency: I hate doing the same thing day after day. I have to mix it up a little. And don’t get me started on how much I hate doing laundry.
Why can’t we just do everyday chores one day and let them be done, and stay done, for a week? Or a month?
There is nothing more demoralizing to me than slaving all day doing laundry, ironing clothes, then folding them, putting them away… Only to see a sock in the bottom of the laundry hamper five seconds later.
Not a pair of socks, mind you. One. Just one lowly sock laughing at me like a villain about to give a monologue at the end of an action movie.
I chug water as the engines start up and the plane begins to move.
A cabin crew member starts giving out the safety briefing but I stare at the blue curtain behind him instead. That thin curtain is the only thing separating us, the help, from them.
The rich people.
I wonder what Blaze is doing right now?
Probably flirting with his co-star and knocking back a drink. Or maybe he’s playing poker with his manager and discussing his busy schedule.
I wish someone would talk to me about the schedule. Not knowing what to expect would drive Lucy absolutely crazy, and a small part
of me is like her. The plane takes off and a part of my stomach stays on the runway. I swallow hard against my rising nerves and try to listen to Chessy’s voice in my head.
You’ve got this, Leila! You’re going to have such a blast. Everyone will like you, and just think what you’re going to do with all that money.
First, I’ll buy Lucy a new game controller. The rubber on hers has worn down from being used so much, but she never justifies spending money on herself.
Unless it’s to fuel her Lord of the Rings obsession, of course.
Speaking of which, I’ll also take her to the local collectibles store and let her choose anything she wants.
Second, I’ll take Chessy to the mall and re-enact Pretty Woman. We’ll go into the most expensive stores, try the complimentary perfume, get a makeover, and then I’d let her pick out a Gucci purse or something.
I can’t forget Josie, of course, without whom I wouldn’t even have this job. I’d treat her and her husband with tickets to Disney World.
Then I’ll be broke again.
I hold up my empty water bottle with dread, and my stomach rumbles. The seatbelt sign is still on and I glance at the restrooms. Why does Lucy have to get into my head?
Now I have to pee and that seatbelt sign is taunting me. If I had any sense, I would have waited until we were in the air to down an entire bottle of water. But no, I couldn’t help myself. To be fair, my mouth was extra dry; the inside of my lips kept getting stuck to my teeth.
Minutes pass like hours, and I wriggle in my seat to get into a more comfortable position. My bladder feels like a bowling ball right now.
I have visions of a kidney popping or something and me howling on the floor, with everyone staring at me concerned. Blaze will walk in and see me crying out, and I’ll probably pee my pants before they get me to the hospital.
And that’ll be the last thing he remembers about me. I’ll always be that woman who fainted and peed herself on the plane.
I grit my teeth. Not on my watch.
Ignoring the seatbelt light, I unbuckle my lap belt and head for the restroom.
“Excuse me, the seat belt sign is still on.”
I ignore the warning and jump into the restroom before the cabin crew can stop me.
A few minutes later, I make my way back to my seat sighing a thousand breaths of relief over the crisis I’ve averted. As I make my way down the aisle, I keep my eyes downcast, as though the act will actually make me invisible so I don’t get reprimanded by the cabin crew, but a sudden bout of turbulence sends me off my feet and into one of the seats. Of course, the particular seat I fall into is already taken.
I’ve landed in someone’s lap, and a pair of hands clutch my waist as the impact of my body on theirs prompts a grunt.
Horrified, I hold my breath and look up slowly. I see a broad chest in a tight shirt, a chiseled jaw, and a pair of dark eyes twinkling at me.
“Hello again,” he says, in that deep rumble. It vibrates through my hands and I jump, realizing my palms are pressed up against his firm pectorals.
“Hi,” I whisper back. What is Blaze Hopkins doing in this cabin? How did he get back here without me noticing?
A rush of whispers makes my ears prick up and I look around. There’s a sea of faces aimed directly at me. The sudden flex of Blaze’s hands on my waist draws my attention back to him, and the second thing I realize is I’m still sitting in his lap.
Oh my gosh, I fell onto Blaze. Like some damsel in distress. Chessy would die with happiness. I’m going to die from embarrassment.
I scramble to my feet, my cheeks on fire, and stutter my apologies. Blaze’s face is lit up in utter amusement. His tongue slides across his bottom lip and my stomach does a standing backflip.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, patting his thigh. I get visions of him dressed up as Santa at a work party. “You can fall on me any time you want.”
I stumble away, shaking my head with horror, and humiliation floods my body. Blaze’s smile vanishes into a frown. “Where are you going?”
I point to my seat, several rows back. “I’m in D3,” I say in a small voice.
My mouth is completely dry again and I force myself to swallow. Before he can argue, or I can do anything else to embarrass myself, I bolt for my seat, fasten my seatbelt and sink down to hide from his line of sight.
My heart is racing and there’s sweat clinging to my temples. I take fast, shallow breaths.
How the heck am I going to get through this trip with my dignity intact?
Chapter 8
Blaze
“Did you see that? The new girl just fell onto Blaze’s lap…”
“She did that on purpose.”
“Obviously, no one is that clumsy.”
“He’s way out of her league, what is she playing at?”
The stylists don’t even try to keep their voices low, and I peek through the gap between the seats behind me to see Leila’s face. She’s scowling.
Knowing that the gossipy occupants are irritating this adorable woman is enough for me to make up my mind that there’s no fun to be had back here. Not with their prying eyes and snide comments.
I rise to a stand, and, as always, the action commands silence among the group. Faces beam at me but I pay them no attention. I make a beeline for Leila instead, who I see has slumped down so much, her knees are pressed into the seat in front of her. Her face grows pink as I approach, but she keeps her gaze fixed on the window.
“Hey, Blaze, what brings you back here?”
I turn briefly to see who has the nerve to act so cool after being a jerk to Leila.
The stylists usually keep to themselves. They’re always the same bunch that travel with us and they hate new people. I should have known they’d give Leila a hard time.
The man who spoke up is Olly. His pointy nose twitches under my gaze and his narrow eyes widen and shift from left to right. He already regrets speaking up.
“I’m here to invite Leila to join me up front, is that okay with you?”
Olly’s rat-like features twist into a shocked expression. He knows it’s not a real question, so he gives a quick nod, his nose turning crimson.
I turn back to meet Leila’s surprised stare. She’s sat up straight again, and she’s playing with her hair.
“What did you say?”
Her sweet voice is like candy, sending my senses into a sugar rush.
Dangerous.
I’m a man with a serious sweet tooth, and sugar is addictive.
Forgetting all about the other people in the cabin, I start to grin again. “I’ve got some… personal questions… to ask you.”
The cabin falls deathly silent, and I don’t need to look to know the stylists are leaning in and listening to every word. I half expect one of them to be recording this to sell to the media later.
“Personal questions?” Leila blinks up at me. Her words are barely audible.
Her reaction sends another thrill through me. We’ve barely said two things to each other, and I’m already having more fun than I’ve had all day. She’s the source. I must have her with me at all times if I’m to have any hope of enduring the next three weeks.
I lean against the back of a chair and cross my arms. “What do you say to coming with me?”
I actually hear her gulp, and her eyes go impossibly wide.
“Where?”
She looks around and nips at her rosy bottom lip with pretty white teeth.
“Through there.” I point to the blue curtain.
For a splinter of a second, I wonder if Leila is going to turn me down. Her eyes shift sideways and her mouth slopes down into a frown. I try and fail to think of a non-creepy way to convince her to come with me. But a scoff from behind me followed by a mutter sends a flash of annoyance across Leila’s eyes. She meets my gaze, her expression suddenly determined. “I’d love to.”
“Great.” I clap. Then I turn to lead the way, rolling my shoulders back and trying not to swagger. I
don’t want to look too pleased with myself, even though I am.
Leila shuffles quietly behind me, but gives me a dazzling grin when I turn.
I open the curtain and step aside, allowing her to walk through ahead of me. I can’t help the small smirk I feel spread across my face when I see the stylists frowning and whispering to each other.
They’re jealous.
The stylists never come into the main cabin. They’re not allowed.
Seeing the new girl waltz in like this will drive them all crazy.
That’ll serve them right for treating this princess like she’s a piece of dirt on their faux leather shoes.
“Oh, my goodness!” A sharp intake of breath draws my attention back to my surroundings and my heart sinks as I watch Leila and Harper meet for the first time.
Leila squeaks, knocks her knees together and throws her hands to her mouth as she stares at my co-star.
Well, I never expected that reaction. Leila is in full fan-girl mode. I guess she doesn’t know Harper like I do. I’ll have to give her the benefit of doubt.
Harper cocks her head to the side and shoots me a bemused look before she holds out a hand to take Leila’s trembling one. “Harper…”
“Jewel! I know who you are!” Leila whispers, resting a hand on her collarbone. “I’m a big fan of your work.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets and watch the exchange with a frown. She never said that to me.
“Who are you, then?” Harper asks, not even trying to hide the bluntness in her tone.
Leila doesn’t recoil, she just laughs as though the question was a joke. “Leila Scott. Personal shopper and number one fan, at your service.” She does a little curtsey and Harper’s expression is frozen in surprise. Her eyes find mine and one brow goes up.
She doesn’t need to say it; I know what she’s thinking. Seriously? Her?
I’ve had more than my fair share of female companions to join me on a trip or two. They’re usually supermodels, yoga instructors, or A-list actresses. The idea of hanging out with a personal shopper is a new move. But I’ve never felt any kind of connection to those other women. Leila stumbled into my life and my heart hasn’t stopped racing since.
